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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24681442">Lumiere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmanor/pseuds/fairmanor'>fairmanor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(like so much), David Loves Schitt's Creek So Much, David Rose is a Good Person, Did I mention they have pets, Domestic Fluff, Five Years On, Fluff, Future Fic, Johnny Rose - Freeform, M/M, Mild Smut, Moira Rose - Freeform, No angst here, Old Friends, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, high school friends - Freeform, they have pets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:27:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24681442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmanor/pseuds/fairmanor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'Wait. Your high school friends are coming here? As in, the group of people you used to hang round with in school? And went to the mall with? And graduated with?’<br/>'Yes, David, those people.'<br/>'Oh my God, I need to meet them! I need to see your matching braided belts. I mean, I’m not sure what that much Wild Country cologne would do to my pH balance, but I’m sure I can manage.'</p><p>When a festival of lights and a cohort of old friends bring a taste of Patrick's hometown life to Schitt's Creek, David doesn't expect to feel as strongly about it as he does.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis Rose &amp; David Rose, David Rose &amp; Rachel, Patrick Brewer &amp; David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Theodore "Ted Mullens/Alexis Rose (Minor)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>281</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the work of my kin, bold and joyful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(Each chapter title is a different Hozier lyric. I have no explanation for this, I just love a bit of Hozy.)</p><p>If you're looking for angst, this is not the place. No angst here, just sickeningly domestic fluff and one very happy David. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Oh my God.’</p><p>‘Hm?’</p><p>David Rose opened a bleary eye against the harsh blue of his husband’s screen. The open laptop was, as it always was at this time of night, a vicious assault on his vision.</p><p>‘Patrick, how many times have I told you to download a bluelight filter for when you’re doing your spreadsheets past midnight?’</p><p>‘I’m not doing spreadsheets.’</p><p>David surrendered to the jabbing light and risked open another eye. The familiar shade of blue, he noticed, turned out to be Facebook.</p><p>‘Then what are you oh-my-Godding about?’</p><p>‘Lumiere is coming here,’ Patrick said.</p><p>Patrick was staring incredulously at an Events page, scrolling down lists of details and attendees.</p><p>‘Hm? What the hell is Lumiere? It sounds like a knockoff mascara that’d give you pinkeye.’</p><p>‘Lumiere was something that used to happen every year in different towns back home,’ Patrick explained. ‘Local artists, students, charities – basically anyone who wanted to join in – would work on light projects that they’d display all over the town. There’d be, I don’t know, dresses made of fibre optics, pastel neon artwork, murals projected onto buildings, it was incredible. And it’s coming to Elmdale next month.’</p><p>David looked up at Patrick. It was usual, expected, for David to now say something critical. It was a soothing back-and-forth that they had built together over the years, something they would comfortably rock into after comments and decisions and suggestions were shared. David, quick-tongued and dramatic, flailing away Patrick’s (and, for that matter, the world’s) ideas with eyerolls and jerking hands. Patrick, patient and predictable, loving every second of his husband’s disgust at the saccharine and mundane, knowing that, deep down, David’s chest was filling with warmth at the idea of being normal.</p><p>They both knew the game off by heart, but at this very moment David found he had nothing biting to offer. Not even about the dreaded quality of small-town art students’ work.</p><p>‘That sounds…amazing.’</p><p>Patrick raised his eyebrows. ‘Wait, you think?’</p><p>‘Honestly? That sounds right up my alley. I wish it was happening here so we could submit something.’</p><p>For a second, it looked like Patrick was on the edge of a reaction reminiscent of David’s the time he had received the best compliment of his life to date: “You’re my Mariah Carey.” Well, there was the time Jemima Kirk had called his skin baby-soft as they took shots in a Manhattan nightclub, but that was neither here nor there.</p><p>‘I’m glad you think so. It used to be my favorite time of year. I wonder why it’s come so far out, though? At home it was never further than an hour’s drive, and my parent’s place is six hours away.’</p><p>‘Hm. I have no idea,’ David said, nestling back into Patrick's side. ‘You could ask your mom sometime soon.’</p><p>*</p><p>‘So, I’ve solved two mysteries this morning,’ Patrick was saying as the store bell jingled, alerting David to his arrival.</p><p>David stuck his head out the storeroom. ‘Did you find a way to screw those bottle caps on the kombucha properly so another customer doesn't almost sue us?’</p><p>Patrick chuckled as he handed David some coffee and a pastry. ‘First of all, she was way too enthusiastic about opening the fridge door. And secondly, no.’</p><p>David feigned intense intrigue. ‘Oh. Do tell, then, Mr. Rose.’ He took a bite of the warm, flaky pastry. Damn, the Café had seriously improved since Twyla bought it.</p><p>‘I found out why the light festival is coming out so far this year. My mom’s on the council back home. She said they were in the middle of deciding that the surrounding towns had had enough of Lumiere after, like, thirty years, but then she suggested extending the catchment area by a couple of hours. Apparently she’s been in touch with Elmdale’s mayor about this for weeks.’</p><p>Something like a motherly hug squeezed David’s chest as he thought about the probable – no, definite – part that David and Patrick living here played in her decision. Considering the quarterly cookies in the mail or the videos she would send of Patrick’s old high school plays, it wasn’t the first time Marcy Brewer had introduced one of her hometown’s something-specials into David and Patrick’s life. Sure, Patrick had seen it all, but David-and-Patrick was a whole different being altogether.</p><p>‘Well, you can tell Mom she can have extra discounts next time she’s in town for that one. Wait, will your parents be coming to see the festival?’</p><p>‘I don’t think so, but that brings me to my second solved mystery.’</p><p>David narrowed his eyes. There was a change there. Why did it look like Patrick was bracing himself to deliver bad news?</p><p>‘I was catching up on my old high school group chat in the Café, and I realised why they aren’t going on their usual summer getaway this year. They’re coming here for the festival.’</p><p>David let out a soft gasp over his coffee. ‘Wait. Your high school friends are coming here? As in, the group of people you used to hang round with in school? And went to the mall with? And graduated with?’</p><p>‘Yes, David, those people.’</p><p>‘Oh. My –’</p><p>‘David…’</p><p>‘God.’</p><p>David’s mouth twisted into a smile that he couldn’t help, fists shaking excitedly at the idea.</p><p>‘I <em>need </em>to meet them! I need to see your matching braided belts. I mean, I’m not sure what that much Wild Country cologne would do to my pH balance, but I’m sure I can manage –’</p><p>David cut himself off at the sight of Patrick’s tense face. He wasn’t mad about the jokes. This was something else.</p><p>‘Patrick, it’s exciting! What’s with the frown lines?’</p><p>‘I don’t know, David. I mean…I haven’t actually seen most of them since I left. And from what I know, they were really cut up about what I did. The last time I really spoke to them was on Skype a couple of years ago.’</p><p>‘…Oh. It’s <em>those</em> ones.’</p><p>David remembered that call. One of Patrick’s friends had organised a group call back when they were still living in the tiny apartment. What had been excitement quickly turned into a twitching jaw and a more-forceful-than-necessary rearrangement of some stock the next morning. Patrick hadn’t said much about it, but David had heard the words ‘disappointed’ and ‘abandoned’ spat from the lagging speakers when he was passing through the room.</p><p>‘Well, you’re on good terms with Rachel, aren’t you? If that’s all that matters to them, it’ll be fine.’</p><p>Patrick shrugged, draining his tea. ‘I suppose. Anyway, we have a month and we might not even see them. They’ll probably book a hostel in Elmdale or something.’</p><p>That was the last they spoke of it as they rolled through the motions of their workdays that week, a chugging train of familiar activity that David realised, rather abruptly as he woke up one quiet, unassuming day, had become his salvation. Life in Schitt’s Creek was woven deep into his veins now. Almost ten years here had done nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. He missed his family, but he hadn’t grown out of living here like Alexis had, nor maintained the desire to leave like his parents. He had been born and raised here, and he knew it. Everyone knew it. Some days, ever to his husband’s surprise, he would let Patrick take the car home and David would walk back to their cottage by himself, drinking in the cooling golden haze of midsummer, all dusty sidewalks and low hanging phone lines. A few new shops had sprung up in the past few years, like the deli he loved and the store that was rather like Rose Apothecary but specialised in local artwork. Twyla’s Café Tropical looked much less like a time-forgotten greasy spoon and more like something that mirrored the Apothecary's cosy-and-upmarket-in-equal-measure charm. Alexis had told him about Twyla’s money. David hadn’t told anyone.</p><p>It was funny, really, how a simple ‘hello, David!’ from Jocelyn, a random on-the-house delivery from Twyla, or the way Stevie would obnoxiously honk her very new, very business-y car's horn every time she passed David in the street could still bring him close to tears after all this time. How he would go home and almost buzz from the giddiness and the sun and the <em>normal </em>of it, wrapping his arms around Patrick's waist a little tighter as they stirred risotto or sliced bell peppers.</p><p>God, he loved this town.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. honey, there is no right way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Patrick's hesitation about some familiar faces coming to town gives David a better idea than submitting artwork.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Each chapter title is a different Hozier lyric. I have no explanation for this, I just love a bit of Hozy.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Knock knock!’</p><p>David would know that cheery voice and aggressive window tap anywhere.</p><p>‘Ray, you know we have a door you can knock on, right?’ David said, opening it to the sight of the town’s best and only real estate agent. Whether or not his visits were welcome was often a fifty-fifty toss up, but contributing variables included the time of day, the weather, and their state of dress at the time of the visit. It was a decent day and David was ready for work, but Ray lost points this time for the pre-9am drop-in.</p><p>As usual, the comment went right over Ray’s head. He was holding what looked like a giant storyboard, copper string, aerosol cans and God knows what else all packaged into a bulging cardboard box.</p><p>‘What are those?’</p><p>‘I heard about the light festival in Elmdale and was wondering if you boys were going to submit anything! I overbought on supplies, so you can have these for free.’</p><p>David wondered for about a second how Ray could possibly have been ready for the event so quickly, then remembered that the little green button next to Ray’s icon on Facebook was almost permanently on. If Ray wasn’t investing time in one of his many professions then he was trawling every inch of the website for news, deals, or Words with Friends as though the thing had been invented one year ago and not almost twenty.</p><p>‘Um, thanks, but we haven’t really given it a lot of thought. We weren’t sure if we could, seeing as we’re <em>here</em> and not Elmdale.’</p><p>‘Alright, I’ll leave this by your doorstep then!’ Ray said jovially, as though David hadn’t just rejected the box. David bit back a laugh. The fact that Ray didn’t seem to have broken his smile in all the time David had known him would have been disturbing if it wasn’t so impressive.</p><p>Hauling the box backwards into the house, David managed to make it just outside the kitchen before his labored breathing caught Patrick’s attention.</p><p>‘You expecting me to ask you to renew our vows this time?’ Patrick called.</p><p>‘Don’t, I’m gonna drop the box!’</p><p>David knelt down and plonked the box on the beige flagstones of their kitchen floor, laughing between hard breaths. Any time David struggled to carry anything in Patrick’s presence became the source of an old inside joke, an homage to the time they had declared their love – and silently declared, to themselves, that this was it. The long run.</p><p>‘It’s from Ray,’ David explained to Patrick’s frown. ‘Something to do with Lumiere and how he’s somehow decided he gets to join in.’</p><p>‘It sounds like it’s gonna be a big deal,’ Patrick said. ‘Pretty much everywhere is booked up with visitors. Stevie said the motel is almost full.’</p><p>‘Mm, and you sound suitably enthused about all this.’ David circled a hand around the box to symbolise the <em>all this </em>of the forthcoming festival.</p><p>Patrick huffed out a small laugh. ‘I’m just gonna head there before it’s dark so I can avoid any awkward run ins with–’</p><p>He was silenced by a drawn-out gasp from David.</p><p><em>‘There</em> you are, baby! Hello! I didn’t see you <em>all night</em> –’</p><p>He bent to pick up the one weight he didn’t mind lifting: Edie, perhaps the only cat in the world who had managed to mirror David’s personality down to a T.</p><p>‘–and you had me <em>worried</em>. Were you locked out, poor little thing?’</p><p>Every other word was punctuated with a small kiss to the top of Edie’s head. She mewed, wrapping her soft tail around David’s wrist.</p><p>A cat of his own wasn’t something David had ever expected to love, even when he was well settled into the cottage. The thought of animal hair clumped on the mohair rug or the remnants of birds and mice shoved in the corners by the fireplace made him physically retch. By their third year of marriage, however, something changed. Perhaps it was the way Patrick cooed over the huge Saint Bernard that was often tied outside their store. Or perhaps it was because David was a little too tuned in to even the slightest semblance of paternal instinct in his husband. Either way, David had decided to take a risk and buy Patrick a dog for Christmas. After almost two hours of crying and the rest of the day spent with Patrick refusing to let go of the golden retriever they’d called Mabel, David knew he’d made the right decision. </p><p>Despite his fondness for Mabel, David had always been more of a cat person. Around a year after, they took a trip to a farm in Elm Glen whose owners were advertising pedigree Ragdoll kittens. He’d fallen in love with their silky coats and the way their heads tilted up in a way that David liked to imagine was distaste. And here they were, seven months later, the four corners of their little family complete. As it turned out, the mess of someone you loved wasn’t so hard to clean up.</p><p>‘Sorry, what were you saying? You seem to have changed your tune since you first heard about the festival,’ David said, a hand coming to rest on Edie’s back.</p><p>‘Nah, never mind. It’s not important.’</p><p>‘Mmkay, I think we both know you better than to just leave it at that.’</p><p>‘It’s just…I thought I was close with my friends right up until I left town, but the more I think about it the worse I've felt about them coming here. The first time Rachel and I broke up was actually <em>at </em>one of the festivals. On one of the nights, the local women’s institute had decorated the whole town like a carnival, complete with rides and food trucks and everything. We’d all come home from college for the summer and me and her had an argument about something stupid. Now that I think about it, I was probably fishing for a reason to end things. I kind of ruined the night for everyone.’</p><p>David stayed quiet, letting Patrick speak, but something was whirring inside him against his will. He wasn’t even sure what it was yet, but time and experience had told him not to ignore it.</p><p>‘So yeah, now I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing,’ Patrick continued, leaning down to pet Mabel as she padded into the room.</p><p>‘Honey, listen. There’s nothing for you to overthink right now. Lumiere being here isn’t some bad omen, or some old wound from the past back to haunt you. I’m gonna make us waffles, okay?’ David crossed the kitchen to the cooker, kissing Patrick’s head as he went. He felt Patrick relax beneath him.</p><p>‘Yeah, okay.’</p><p>*</p><p>The next time David brought it up was one evening that weekend, when they were curled up on the sofa with wine and popcorn. They were watching <em>The Great British Baking Show</em> when Patrick’s phone started to ping incessantly.</p><p>‘Ugh, can you mute that?’ David muttered from beneath the chunky knit Vicuña blanket his mother had sent them for their first anniversary. While he was thankful his parents weren’t as disgustingly wealthy as they had once been, he was equally thankful that Moira’s revived acting career and the upwards trend of the motel business meant that they were comfortable enough to send them some wonderful décor when the time called for gift-giving.</p><p>‘Ah, it’s just the old group chat again. They’ll stop in a minute.’</p><p>Nevertheless, Patrick seemed invested in his phone. David glanced over his shoulder at the screen.</p><p>
  <strong>‘The Three Musketeers’</strong>
</p><p>(Because of <em>course</em> it was called that, David thought.)</p><p>
  <strong>Ottawa Senators Fangirl (Luka Bruyn):</strong>
</p><p>That’s why I never find these things on time!! I’m too unorganized</p><p>
  <strong>Nerd Herd (Robert Jackson):</strong>
</p><p>Wait so literally everywhere is booked up? Let me check</p><p>Dammit you’re right</p><p>
  <strong>Cold Brew (Patrick Rose-Brewer):</strong>
</p><p>Try Rosebud Motel in Schitt’s Creek. Remember the ‘c’ when you search that. It’s not too far from where I live</p><p>
  <strong>Ottawa Senators Fangirl (Luka Bruyn):</strong>
</p><p>Okay</p><p>Nope, booked</p><p>
  <strong>Cold Brew (Patrick Rose-Brewer):</strong>
</p><p>:(</p><p>I'm not sure then. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help!</p><p>
  <strong>Nerd Herd (Robert Jackson):</strong>
</p><p>It’s fine dude, dw</p><p>There it was again. The little buzz that David had felt the other day. This time, he decided to address it.</p><p>‘So you <em>are</em> on good terms with some of them, huh? I’m assuming they’re the ones who are coming to Lumiere?’ David said. If there was a hint in his voice, it might has well have been shouted from across the street. It was a hint of a hint.</p><p>Patrick didn’t pick up on it. ‘Yeah, them and five others. There were eight of us in our group.’</p><p>David smirked. Of <em>course</em> Patrick had had a large friend group in high school. Four boys, four girls, all varsity jackets and milkshakes, playing out their time in high school PG-Grease-style before they all paired off neatly for the rest of their lives. Well, not quite.</p><p>‘Seven people.’ David made a show of looking around their living room. ‘Yeah, that’s possible.’</p><p>‘What’s possible?’</p><p>David threw out his hands. ‘Oh my God, how have you not got it yet?’</p><p>‘Got what?’</p><p>David swallowed down the nauseating imagery of nine-person clutter and said, ‘Patrick, why don’t we invite them here?’</p><p>‘What?’</p><p>‘Your friends. Invite them here. We have two sofas, a guest bed – ooh, are any of them together? That would help.’</p><p>‘Who are you and what have you done with my husband?’</p><p>‘Make no mistake, there is a very suffering David beneath all this, hoping he won’t regret his decision. I’m gonna need a solid answer to put me out my misery, please.’</p><p>Patrick’s mouth twisted in thought. ‘Um…it’s an idea. But I have no idea how they’d react to staying with us. Or what would go down. And it might mean having to invite Rachel, which is a totally different ball game.’</p><p>‘Sports metaphors, honey.’</p><p>‘Sorry.’</p><p>But as they settled back to watch the final round of the episode (some impossible but delicious-looking cheese tart), David was smiling. It hadn’t been a no.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. there's an art to life's distractions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Patrick reaches out to the old group, and David answers an unexpected phone call.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Each chapter title is a different Hozier lyric. I have no explanation for this, I just love a bit of Hozy.)</p><p>I'm really glad you're enjoying this so far, people! This is my very first fanfiction, and your nice comments have been really encouraging.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It only took another night for David to convince Patrick to set up a new group chat. The laptop was propped up between them in bed and they were bickering about every angle of the process.</p><p>‘Patrick, how is it you’ve been on social media for <em>seventeen years</em> yet you have no idea how to make a group chat with more than two people? How did you even communicate back home? Carrier pigeon chain mail?’</p><p>‘I’ve never had the need to! The one with me and the other two was fine. The rest of us just spoke face to face like normal people.’</p><p>‘I am literally forty years old and I know more about this than you. Give that here.’</p><p>David tugged the laptop over to his side and began clicking away.</p><p>‘What are their names?’</p><p>‘Cody Piotrowski, Robert Jackson, Luka Bruyn, Jasmeen Bakshi, Lauren Lefevre, Kate Sherwood, and, uh…’ There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘Yeah, and Rachel Arden.’</p><p>‘Okay, and I’m adding both of us.’</p><p>Patrick took the laptop back. ‘How am I going to word this?’</p><p>It took about ten minutes (and several near misses where David typed out and almost accidentally sent things like ‘join us in Schitt’s Creek’s finest stone-clad crack den!’) for them to construct a text they were both happy with:</p><p>
  <strong>Lumiere 2025</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Patrick Rose-Brewer:</strong>
</p><p>Hey! Hope you’re all well. Long time no see. I heard about Lumiere coming to Elmdale this year, and it caught my attention since I don’t live far from there. If you’re all still looking for places to stay, my husband David and I would love to host some of you for the week. Hope to see you soon!</p><p>‘Why did you add that to the end?’ Patrick said.</p><p>‘Because we do! If you’ve invited them over, it goes without saying that you <em>hope to see them soon.’</em></p><p>‘Is it not too presumptuous? Would be kind of embarrassing if I said hope to see you soon and it turned out none of them were actually coming anymore, so then it just looks like I was desperate to see them or something, and –’</p><p>‘Okay, I’m going to take this–’ David closed the screen gently – ‘before you overthink it and deactivate your account.’</p><p>This was to no avail, since it took about five seconds before Patrick huffed and picked up his phone.</p><p>‘No one has seen it yet.’</p><p>‘Well, duh. It’s past midnight. Go to sleep, Patrick.’</p><p>*</p><p>‘Still nothing?’</p><p>‘Nope.’</p><p>The store was nestled in its usual start-of-week sales dip, which meant David was going to the Café twice as often to pick up excess caffeine for his husband. Without as much work to distract him, Patrick was perched on the edge of the counter, biting his nails into stubs.</p><p>‘One of these days, I’m gonna stick a load of divorce papers on that counter with the words ‘NAIL BITER’ printed on in red ink and nothing else.’</p><p>David took Patrick’s hands in his own. He tried to make a fuss about the bitten-down skin, but found himself rubbing them soothingly instead.</p><p>‘Not everyone responds to messages straight away. You know I don’t,’ David said.</p><p>‘Yeah, but at least I can roughly guess what you’re doing.’</p><p>The first thing Patrick had done when he woke up was check his phone. During the course of the night and early morning all seven of the friends had seen the message, but as of yet no one had replied.</p><p>‘Ugh, this was a bad idea,’ Patrick groaned, running a hand across his face as he got down from the counter. ‘They probably all still hate me.’</p><p>‘First of all, I genuinely think it’s impossible to hate you. It’s not <em>hatred, </em>this is just new territory. For them and for you. They’ve not seen you for a while.’</p><p>‘So they’ve never really <em>seen</em> me, then.’</p><p><em>Whoop, there it is, </em>David thought. One downside of living in a place you loved, he supposed, was that you became so wrapped up in it you failed to see what it looked like to everyone else. While Patrick had quite literally been looking at the last few years through rose-tinted glasses (David hoped Ted would be proud of him for that pun), to his friends this was just the place Patrick had run away to. The place he dumped Rachel for.</p><p>The little spark of light that David had been anxiously nursing for the better part of a week now gained some clarity. Something like the plastic neon dizziness of a spinning toy, like woven ball lights and, if he squinted hard enough, fireworks…</p><p>He had to make this work. And suddenly, he knew how.</p><p>David nipped the conversation in the bud with a firm rub of Patrick’s shoulders and a quick, chaste kiss. ‘Promise me you won’t look at your phone for the rest of the day. Just focus on work and we’ll talk it through tonight, okay?’</p><p>Patrick nodded. ‘I think I’ll – wait, where are you going?’</p><p>‘I have to go to Ray’s. I, uh, meant to return that box to him.’</p><p>‘Can it not wait until tonight?’</p><p>‘Nope, and I’m taking your phone so you stop looking at it.’</p><p>‘Hey!’</p><p>David just smiled in response, closing the door hard to set off the bell.</p><p>He was almost at Ray’s house, only half-distracted by the smell of asparagus and red onion wafting from the Café when the phone in his back pocket began to buzz. Pulling it out, he took a moment to adjust to the screen’s light in the sun. His stomach pinched a little at the name at the top: ‘Rachel Arden’.</p><p>His fingers twitched over the phone for a second, an infinitesimal delay, before answering.</p><p>‘Um, hello?’</p><p>‘Hi, it’s – is that David?’</p><p>David’s usual response of ‘No, this is Patrick’ whenever he had his husband’s phone felt slightly inappropriate for the moment, so he bit it back.</p><p>‘Yeah, it is.’</p><p>‘Oh, sorry. Is Patrick around? If you’re driving or something I can call back.’</p><p>‘It’s fine, I just have his phone. I can pass on a message.’</p><p>‘Oh, okay. I just prefer to call rather than text in response to things.’</p><p>Despite himself, David found himself smiling at how pure that was. Yep, she was definitely from Patrick’s hometown.</p><p>‘I’d be happy to stay at yours for Lumiere,’ she continued. ‘I was gonna say to Patrick…well, I suppose I might as well say it to you, too. I know things have been weird with our friends the past couple of years, so I just hope me being there doesn’t cause any problems.’</p><p>David's shoulders unclenched. He was surprised at how easy this conversation felt.</p><p>‘Oh, don’t worry about it! As long as you two are cool with each other, no one has any reason to rip each other’s heads off.’</p><p>Rachel let out a relieved laugh. ‘That’s what I thought too.’</p><p>There were a few moments of silence. Then Rachel said, slowly as though she were trying the words out for the first time, ‘So…how have you guys been?’</p><p>David smiled again as he closed the distance between himself and Ray’s office. ‘Really great. We got a cat last year, and a dog the year before that…’</p><p>Rachel responded in kind about her new puppies and her job and the house she’d got that was thirty minutes from her parents’ place and suddenly David was leaning against the wall, laughing and chatting and having completely forgotten why he even needed to speak to Ray.</p><p>*</p><p>Thankfully that night, David was able to sneak the box back to Ray’s – and get in that conversation he’d been meaning to have – as though he’d done it hours ago. Not that Patrick would have noticed; as soon as his phone connected to the home Wi-Fi it began to ping with messages, all thumbs-ups and ‘Sounds great!’ from the new group chat.</p><p>‘See, what did I tell you?’ David said, wrapping his arms round Patrick’s neck as they entered the kitchen. Like an automatic reflex, Patrick leaned into the embrace and caught David's lips in a kiss.</p><p>When they broke apart, Patrick hmph-ed like he always did when David had been right about something. ‘Fine. Cody still hasn’t responded, though, and that’s the one I was the most worried about.’</p><p>Cody…the name didn’t ring any late night, deep conversation bells. Perhaps he was the one who’d laid into Patrick over their last call.</p><p>‘He was my best friend out of the lot of them,’ Patrick went on. ‘Every time I broke up with Rachel, he treated it like I’d stepped out of line. Like I’d broken some smalltown, lifelong friends pact. Then there was a time when he dated Rachel for a while, so <em>I </em>got mad at <em>him, </em>and…ah, whatever. It was all so <em>high school</em>, y’know? Surely we’re over that kind of thing now.’</p><p>David nodded in the way he always did when he tried to understand why someone had used ‘high school’ as a descriptive.</p><p>‘Right. Well, forgetting about <em>that </em>for a second, how are we best going to accommodate the rest of them? Is anyone together?’</p><p>‘Robert and Lauren are married, actually. Jasmeen and Kate might have had a thing in the tenth grade, but that’s long gone.’</p><p>The next time David checked, the group chat was littered with nicknames and jokes that David didn't understand. Someone had renamed the chat ‘The Brady Bunch 2.0’.</p><p>‘Ew, Patrick! It's been five minutes and they've already gone all mushy and rural on us. I've changed my mind, they're not coming.’</p><p>Instead of responding, Patrick clicked on David's icon and changed his nickname to ‘The Host with the Most’.</p><p>‘I hate you. You're a disgrace.’</p><p>‘You're cute.’</p><p>‘A disgrace to our name, Patrick!’</p><p>Keeping a closer eye on the texts than he made out, David spent the night collecting as much information about Patrick’s old friend group as possible, the cogs in his head turning a mile a minute as he tried to map out the perfect arrangement for seven extra bodies (<em>and mouths, oh my God, </em>David thought as he realised how much food would be needed) in their house.</p><p>He had to remind himself about three times an hour to stop getting ahead of himself when his mind drifted into disturbing territories like group walks and a garden volleyball set (<em>Who even </em>are <em>you anymore, David?</em> ). He didn’t want to get lost in the feeling that he had something to prove on the Rose-Brewer behalf, as though this was something from which to selfishly platform and showcase how good they had it now.</p><p>Nevertheless, David was intent on making this as enjoyable an experience as it could possibly be for eight awkward friends who’d drifted apart. And that strange little light of an idea kept spinning around inside him, new colours added to the mix every time he tuned into it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. a picnic planned for you and me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>David struggles to plan for the reunion whilst keeping his other endeavor under control.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(Each chapter title is a different Hozier lyric. I have no explanation for this, I just love a bit of Hozy.)</p><p>Blink-and-you'll-miss-it smut? In MY fanfic? It's more likely than you think.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The supermarket aisle looked a mile long with no one in. David had always thought there was something spooky about them, with their polished linoleum floors and off-brand bags of oatmeal. The songs that were played were always more haunting in the cavernous space, subdued by that familiar supermarket lull of rolling trolleys and beeping tills.</p><p>Wishing he’d got stoned for the occasion, David stared blankly at the shelves with no idea how to start and even less of an idea how to end.</p><p>He had to do this by himself.</p><p>He had to make this perfect.</p><p>He had to –</p><p>‘Fuck it,’ he muttered, pulling up Stevie’s contact on his phone. She was still saved as Riff Raff as per last year’s production of ‘Rocky Horror’, and he was fairly certain she still had him saved as ‘World's Schittiest Costume Designer’.</p><p>‘What?’</p><p>‘Hello to you too, bitch,’ David retorted. ‘I need your help.’</p><p>Stevie sighed loudly. ‘Is it real help this time? The last time you ‘needed my help’ was because your dog dropped a deuce while you were home alone and you called me hyperventilating because you forgot they did that.’</p><p>‘No, this is an actual problem, Stevie! I’m hosting Patrick’s friends next weekend and I don’t know what direction to go in with, like, the <em>aesthetic </em>of this visit?’</p><p>‘Hold up. David Rose is voluntarily letting people stay in his <em>Little House on the Prairie </em>MTV crib?’</p><p>‘Okay, don’t make me feel worse. I haven’t even met any of them in real life.’</p><p>Stevie snorted with laughter, then faked a scandalised gasp. ‘Oh David, what if they drop cigarette ash on the carpet? What if they’re mouth breathers? What if they–’</p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>Well, that had been no help. His second resort was a little further down the contacts list, a voice he was looking forward to hear. They hadn’t called in a few weeks.</p><p>‘Hello?’</p><p>‘Hey! How’s Huff Post’s fourth ‘Top 10 Up-and-Coming Female CEOs in the Communications Sector’ doing?’</p><p>At the other end of the line, Alexis scoffed. ‘Ugh, David. Why do you need to bring that up every time? And she’s dead, thanks. Literally dead.’</p><p>‘You’ve been pregnant for like, a day. Remind me to completely ghost you when you get to the third trimester.’</p><p>‘Honestly, I would love that. By that point I think I’ll be so sick of dad jokes that if another human tries to speak to me I might murder them in their sleep.’</p><p>David had to hold in a laugh imagining his future niece or nephew being half as quick as their father when it came to making puns. You know, just to properly tip Alexis over the edge.</p><p>‘Anyway, listen. A whole load of Patrick’s school friends are coming to town and I’m not prepared.’</p><p>‘Oh my God, <em>cute, </em>David! I can just imagine them with all their little buttoned shirties and sensible shoes. What brings them to Schitt’s Creek?’</p><p>David explained the light festival and how they would be potentially hosting all seven of them at their house.</p><p>‘I just don’t know how I’m gonna keep them all entertained! They’re whole adults with marriages and taxes. The only people I've really hosted this year are Mom and Dad, so like...what do <em>normal</em> people do? What do they eat?’</p><p>‘I mean, I guess one thing I’ve learned in this job is that you’ve got to keep the focus on them<em>, </em>not you. Like…they have group memories and stuff. Do something that brings <em>them</em> together, since them being there as a group means that their whole stay is, like, founded on that already-established friendship, you know?’</p><p>Pause.</p><p>‘No. I have no fucking clue what you just said to me.’</p><p>‘Ugh, David! I don’t know, then. Just put on some Mumford and Sons and offer to flat iron their pants or something.’</p><p>David absently picked up ingredients for a few massive meals and some lights for the garden and cashed them at the register, all the while  thinking about group memories and already-established friendships. Before he knew it he was pulling out of the supermarket and heading towards Roland's, wondering if he could set him a meeting up with Elmdale’s mayor.</p><p>*</p><p>It was rare that David used Patrick’s office, a small, cosy square on the landing next to the guest bedroom. It was a room he associated with quarterly reports and assets and a tensed-up Patrick who, though he looked adorable with his face scrunched up in concentration, was never quite as receptive as David would have liked when he slinked in to try and distract him.</p><p>But that was where he found himself when he came back from the supermarket, a sea of notes and spreadsheets in front of him. He had drawn out sleeping arrangements and timetabled meals like some sort of intense PTA mom. He had also been emailed a much more complex-looking sheet that almost made him regret the other venture he had planned.</p><p>‘You have a strange way of making chicken katsu, David.’</p><p>‘FUCK!’</p><p>David almost leapt out of his chair.</p><p>‘Sorry, I know I said I’d – I’m coming now, just give me five minutes.’</p><p>Patrick chuckled. ‘It’s fine, I already got it started.’</p><p>‘Mm.’ David must have been sat in a work trance for longer than he thought. He pressed the heels of his hands to sore eyes.</p><p>Patrick frowned as he came into the office. ‘You okay? You’ve been in here for three hours.’</p><p>David gestured to the planning in front of him. ‘We don't have very long, there’s lots to do.’</p><p>‘Babe, it’s going to be fine. They’re pretty low maintenance, from what I remember.’ He stepped behind David and began to work out the knots in his shoulders like David had done to him so many times before in the same room.</p><p>‘I know. I just want it to be perfect.’</p><p>‘David, is this about you worrying they won’t like you?’</p><p>David didn’t answer. He hadn’t considered that one enough to do the question justice.</p><p>‘I just want it to be perfect!’ he repeated, flailing his arms out. Patrick caught them then ran his hands down David’s sides, stopping to tease at his waistband.</p><p>Oh. That’s where this was going. David was about to tug Patrick into his lap when his phone began to ring. Patrick sneaked a look at it.</p><p>‘What does Jocelyn want from you?’ he murmured, as he began to kiss down David’s neck.</p><p><em>Shit. </em>Luckily, David had a pretty convenient deflection at this precise moment in time.</p><p>‘Oh, that doesn’t matter right now,’ David said, kicking the chair back from the desk to give them some room.</p><p>How was it, after all this time, David was still left light-headed? The quiet, pale beauty of his husband, all freckles and muscle and sweet-tasting kisses, drove the same tight heat through David like bright flashes of sun as it had that first night in Stevie’s apartment. The way Patrick would look up at him, flushed and lovedrunk and half hidden by the curls he’d been growing out and <em>God, will it ever feel less like this? Will I ever feel less blessed, less whole? </em></p><p>David could spend years like that, exploring the museum of it all, the smooth curve of collarbones and pearl-pale columns of throat. Even after they'd headed downstairs to laugh about half-burnt dinners and sway to some old <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKZ7o7EXHFM">Barbara Lewis song</a> about unlimited devotion, the air would still be laced with pure, silent trust; so old, so timeless, so refreshingly <em>theirs.</em></p><p>‘No,’ David said suddenly into the dark where they lay that night, too tangled to sleep.</p><p>‘No to what?’</p><p>‘No to your question before. You asked if all of this was just me wanting your friends to like me or something. And I don’t…<em>think </em>so? Which is weird, because if this had happened four, five years ago, it would have absolutely been about that. But now it just feels like I’m someone who wants to be a good host to some old friends. Nothing much.’</p><p>Patrick untangled their limbs and propped up on his elbow with that soft, vulnerable expression that made David want to roll his eyes or maybe marry him all over again. He pushed a strand of hair away from David’s forehead then let the back of his hand fall down David’s cheek.</p><p>‘Good. But, for the record, they are going to like you.’</p><p>David curled his lips playfully as he took his husband by the waist. ‘And how can you be so sure, Mr. Rose?’</p><p>Patrick sighed as he settled back into David.</p><p>‘Because you’re a nice person.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Okay, I'm fully expecting someone in the comments to offer a full cast list for the hypothetical Rocky Horror production. Don't let me down, people!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. your friends are a fate that befell me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first few hours of the reunion are upon them. Patrick just hopes it's enough.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>More than halfway through the fic, and we're finally meeting the friends. Sorry I made you wait so long!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the third time that hour, Patrick had all but skidded across the hallway to the door only to find that his friends hadn’t yet arrived. David almost considered ordering a pizza to the house just to watch him scramble for the door again.</p><p>‘Mm, so I’m guessing they didn’t suddenly sprout wings and arrive here three hours early?’ David said as he stepped into the hallway, Edie curled up in his arms.</p><p>‘Nope, just more Lumiere flyers for the store. Why are they sending these <em>now </em>when the first show is so soon?’ Patrick kicked the door closed behind him. He was holding a pile of arrestingly holographic posters.</p><p>‘You can put one in the window if it doesn’t give any of our customers a seizure. What’s on the agenda?’ David said.</p><p>‘The first night is <em>Saint-Saens</em>, which I’m assuming is animals. Then it’s <em>L’Eclat</em>, something the fashion students from Elmdale College are putting on. Then the last night is just called <em>Finale</em>.’</p><p>David hid a grin. It had taken every fibre of his being to persuade Ray out of naming it <em>Ray of Light.</em></p><p>‘Sounds like fun,’ he said placidly.</p><p>‘Should be, if everyone gets here on time.’</p><p>‘What <em>you’re </em>gonna do right now is take Mabel for a walk, stick those flyers in the store window before it's too late, then come back and watch some mind-numbing daytime shit that’ll distract you until they get here, okay?’</p><p>Patrick sighed, resigning himself to the afternoon that David had planned. ‘Fine.’</p><p>*</p><p>‘They’re coming. They’re coming. David, they’re here.’</p><p>‘Shut up, it’s fine! Wait ‘til the car’s at least parked before you stand us at the door like <em>American Gothic</em>.’</p><p>They’d taken a carpool in what was presumably Robert and Lauren’s SUV, since Patrick had mentioned they had three kids. David had several small heart attacks imagining what would happen if they’d brought them here without warning.</p><p>The car finally rolled to a stop and Patrick’s friends piled out of the vehicle. Whatever anxiety was dashing Patrick’s expression before had melted away into a fond smile. While he swung open the front door to greet everyone, David hung back to let them reunite for a few minutes.</p><p>He peered through the window as Rachel closed the car door. Unexpectedly, the sight of that red hair and small, kind face made David’s breath catch in his throat like it did before a panic attack. They might have been on relatively pleasant terms, but he’d barely seen a photo of Rachel since the barbecue, bar that one time he’d spent no less than four hours stalking her social media after he and Patrick broke up. The sight jogged his memory just a little too hard.</p><p>Not that Patrick needed to know, but it still caught David off guard sometimes. It happened less as the years went by, but if Patrick was away at a weekend seminar or had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch David would still broil himself to sleep in that memory, huddled and cringing in an empty bed as he thought about the last time it could have all come crashing down.</p><p>He was shaken out of his trance by the emergence of one of the tallest people David had ever seen, with an Afro that very much added to his height.</p><p>‘Pat!’ the man shouted, grabbing Patrick in a one-armed hug and scrubbing his curls. From his brief social media browse, David gathered that this was Robert. ‘What is your hair doing, man? You’re looking <em>sharp!’</em></p><p>The sound of Patrick’s laughter beneath welcome embraces somehow made David giddier and more relaxed at the same time. A final passenger from the back of the car made seven, the one they hadn’t been sure was coming at all. He shrugged his bag higher over his shoulder as he closed the car door, approaching Patrick somewhat cautiously. Patrick opened one arm out to Cody and they teetered around it awkwardly for a moment before settling for a handshake.</p><p>It was like <em>The Goldbergs </em>and entire stock of Toast Clothing had spilled onto his driveway. They were a hearty amalgam of functional, wholesome beauty, and looked exactly like David had expected them to: the same kind, open eyes, the same perpetual vigor as though their mothers had given them a spoonful of something in their childhood that would never wear off.  They’d had that same it-takes-a-village upbringing that had hurtled into David’s life all those years ago in the form of a pressed blue shirt and a B13 meeting tab.</p><p>They crowded through the front door and David exchanged quiet welcomes with everyone in turn, surprised to find his hands a little clammy and his breath short. He tried not to blame himself; privately, this had been just as nervewracking for David as it had been for Patrick. He had to cope with the thought that he might just blend into the backdrop of Patrick's place of hometown abandonment, unable to prove himself to people who'd already signed him off as bad news five years ago.</p><p>His anxiety peaked when Patrick was checking on their dinner and David was left alone with them, once everyone was settled in and seated. After six hours in the same car together, their conversation had quickly run dry. All that lay between them now was the fact that they had travelled six hours to see their friend, and all the implications that held.</p><p>David could hear the clock in the dining room far too loudly. It was excruciating.</p><p>‘So, David…what do you guys do?’ Lauren asked.</p><p><em>Thank fuck. </em>‘Um, we own a business,’ he said. ‘We rebrand local products and resell them in our store. I don't know if you saw Rose Apothecary when you were on your way through the town -’</p><p>‘Wait, you guys are Rose Apothecary?’ Jasmeen asked, her eyes wide.</p><p>David froze. Had she had some deadly allergic reaction after buying an online product? Was she a rival business owner? Was she - </p><p>The dangerous train of thought was cut short by Jasmeen holding out an article on her phone in front of David. He recognised the article straight away.</p><p>‘Wait…<em>you’re </em>Skjønnhet Magazine?’</p><p>Jasmeen nodded. ‘I’m the lifestyle editor.’</p><p>‘You cannot be serious. We popped <em>champagne </em>over that review! That got us so many online sales! Can I marry you instead?’</p><p>That drew a laugh from the group. Patrick emerged from the kitchen, a baking glove slung over his shoulder.</p><p>‘Patrick, your friends are incredible. Can they stay here forever?’</p><p>‘I think they’ll have to stay here forever if you don’t come and help me get this huge lasagna out the oven,’ Patrick countered. ‘Since you carried me up a mountain, you might be able to lift this.’</p><p>‘He did what?’ Kate said as David stood up.</p><p>‘Yup. It might still be the most physical effort he’s invested in anything, ever,’ Patrick said, slapping David lightly with the glove.</p><p>David cupped Patrick’s face. ‘Honey, I’ll never forget the day I met you, but I’m gonna keep trying.’</p><p>As David left for the kitchen, he warmed at sound of the even louder laugh that that had received. The tension breaking felt like shrugging off a backpack full of lead.</p><p>‘You picked a good one, Patrick,’ one of them said.</p><p>David leaned against the kitchen wall for a while, arms comfortably hugging his middle as he listened to Patrick explaining the mountain story. He wasn’t the only one who’d picked a good one.</p><p>The few hours after dinner were gently hazed by drinking. David cracked open a bottle of spirit he’d bought when he and Patrick visited Corfu for David’s 40th birthday. He had, or at least he thought he had, been saving it for some momentously special occasion; he wasn’t exactly sure what that would be, only that it would hit him halfway through this hypothetical event to run and grab the bottle. But David had barely thought twice about drawing the guest’s attention to the spirit and preparing some cranberry and lime mixer to sweeten the sharp alcohol. <em>What was that old proverb about china cups? Something about leaving them for too long in their boxes, waiting on special occasions until they crack.</em></p><p>David offered to clean up as Patrick and his friends relived some old favourites. They'd played a round of baseball (‘Don’t let him fool you, David is deceptively incredible,’ Patrick had said) and were now playing some old quiz game while David listened contentedly from the kitchen.</p><p>‘Need any help?’</p><p>It was Cody. He was hovering in the kitchen doorway, eyes lingering on the washed-up pile of plates and cutlery.</p><p>‘Thanks,’ David said. Cody stepped closer to the sink and began drying some of the plates.</p><p>David concentrated on the clink of the washing under his hands and the rub of the towel on the drying plates, trying to ignore the little pit of awkwardness that was currently caving in his chest.</p><p>‘It’s nothing to do with you, you know.’</p><p>David slowed his washing, eventually placing the bowl he’d almost been done with back to the bottom of the sink. ‘Um, pardon?’</p><p>‘Everything that went on with Patrick and me, it was nothing personal. I hope you know that.’</p><p>‘I already did know that. Thanks.’</p><p>David gently bit down on his tongue as he resumed the washing up, as though that would prevent him from saying something he regretted. He was trying not to hold anything against Cody, but Cody hadn’t been there to watch Patrick chew himself up over some of his oldest insecurities for the better part of a month.</p><p>Suddenly, Cody sighed forcefully. ‘I don’t want to keep bringing it up, but I just felt like I had to. I’ve been a dick to him these past few years. I kept worrying about our home and how things would change. But after being here for just a few hours, and seeing him here, I can see that…well, I don’t know. I suppose what I always knew as home didn’t quite look like this.’</p><p>David attributed the stinging behind his eyes to a stray bubble of washing up liquid. Now that he knew Cody’s attitude had changed, David felt like the whole house was radiating with love for his husband, and the feeling was indescribable.</p><p>‘I’m glad you’ve smoothed things over,’ David said, ignoring the tiny crack in his voice. ‘Thank you.’</p><p>If it applied to his pets, David thought as he listened to the sound of Patrick’s laughter from the living room, it could just as easily apply to his husband. The mess of someone you loved wasn’t so hard to clean up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and comments do a happy writer make.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. sunlight, sunlight, sunlight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Lumiere weekend is in full swing. Patrick finally feels at ease with his friends, and David and Rachel have an early morning heart-to-heart.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The more I write this, the more I just wish I could do something like this with my friends. It's genuinely cathartic to write.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ten years in Schitt’s Creek had taught David two things: to expect a great deal from a small space, but also to never be too sure what to expect. As soon as they parked in Elmdale and caught the first glimpse of the lights, David felt like he’d never even heard of Lumiere before tonight. He was dipping into glittering, unchartered waters that drowned the stars with such solid effervescence that David felt dizzy with illumination as he wandered down the main street, his hand clasped tightly in Patrick’s.</p><p>As well as the main pieces of art for each night, there were also buskers whose instruments had been bejewelled with LEDs, lit-up paths, and vendors selling headache-worthy children’s toys that spun and whirred. Bridges had been transformed into fluorescent triangular tunnels with the power of neon strips. Radiant homemade artwork was dotted at the ends of sidewalks and hung in sincere attempts against the sides of houses on the busiest roads. What looked like two giant koi made of translucent tarp were strung up above their heads between the buildings on the main street, glowing pale blue and orange and green.</p><p>David wasn’t sure where to look. This wasn’t some tired tradition that only happened for the sake of it, this was <em>good</em>. Perhaps a bygone David Rose would have scoffed at the attempt, but there was no room for a bygone David Rose on this crowded street. And if there was any room for the word ‘amateur’, it was only to marvel at the effort and ingenuity that the people of Elmdale had managed to pack into that little label. Amateur. Another French word. To do things just for the love of it.</p><p>Patrick and his friends had been just as equally amazed, though perhaps it wasn’t the same first-time wonder that had clutched David by the arm all night. They took in the displays of light with the air of those whose memories had already been well saturated with such things, but seeing their familiar hometown brought to life so far away from its source point meant they all left that night astounded and revived.</p><p>*</p><p>‘Hey.’</p><p>David felt a familiar pair of hands on his hips as he changed for the afternoon. He melted into the touch. They had had rare moments alone in the past two days.</p><p>Still only half dressed, David turned around and pulled Patrick into a gentle hold.  He hummed happily as they swayed a little, like their quiet touch was the equivalent of a five-minute work break.</p><p>‘Just thought I’d check in. Enjoying yourself?’ Patrick said.</p><p>‘Mm. I am. I didn’t expect to be quite so similar to any of them. Turns out Jasmeen got Lauren obsessed with our products like a year ago, without having any idea who it was. And Luka’s an art curator? That’s basically what I used to do!’</p><p>Patrick laughed. ‘I wouldn’t say anything was quite like what you used to do, David. But yeah, I’m surprised too.’</p><p>‘Good surprised?’</p><p>Patrick nodded, helping David pull a white cable knit sweater over his head. ‘Very good. I feel…content. Like I’ve finally shifted into some comfortable sleeping position.’</p><p>‘Your metaphors are ridiculous.’</p><p>‘Ah, you love them anyway.’</p><p>‘I love <em>you </em>anyway.’ David smiled into a slow kiss, then complained when Patrick pulled away suddenly.</p><p>‘We should have a bit of a bigger get-together. I’m sure my friends would love to meet some of ours. We still have a couple of hours before our meal tonight, right?’</p><p>David gave him a scandalised look as he pulled out a pair of black jeans. ‘And I might as well just start refreshing Burberry’s page <em>a couple of hours</em> before their new collection drops.’</p><p>‘We have time! I’ll get everyone to help out. And we barely use that pizza oven we bought for the wedding,’ Patrick said. ‘Why don’t we invite some more people round, make a thing out of it?’</p><p>As if he knew David would have fainted if nothing had already been planned, Patrick had already invited their friends from around the town for what turned out to be a cross between a barbecue and a potluck before they made their way to the second night of Lumiere. The air was warm and crisp with the sounds of steak sizzling and ice clicking gently in jugs of iced tea.</p><p>David was seated in the middle of the friends as Patrick and Robert wrestled with the cooking. As though there wasn’t already enough dad energy at the barbecue Roland was hovering behind them, offering unsolicited advice.</p><p>‘And it was totally by chance that you just ended up here, and just happened to meet. Wow. Isn’t it funny how things turn out?’ Kate was saying.</p><p>‘Mm. I guess it is.’</p><p>What had Moira called it? <em>The fated flap of a butterfly wing.</em> If there was such a thing as being haunted in a good way, those words had definitely had that effect on David.</p><p>‘I’m always gonna be jealous of people who know how to work barbecues,’ Kate said, watching as the three men cheered at the sight of the first spark. ‘I tried a couple of months ago on a date – a, well, I don’t know. A thing. And it didn’t work.’</p><p>If there was a moment where David was forgotten and Jasmeen and Kate froze in uncertain eye contact, he pretended not to notice.</p><p>‘I’m the same,’ he said. ‘I was pretty much completely helpless until I turned thirty.’</p><p>‘Oh yeah, you mentioned something like that! Didn’t you used to be really rich?’</p><p>The word <em>rich</em> did what it always did to David: it settled and hardened behind his teeth, under his tongue like a stubborn lump of taffy. It didn’t taste bad, but it was just there. Persistent.</p><p>David looked back at his cottage, the warm, stone-dashed home that he had made his own. He looked at his husband, distractingly handsome as he flipped burgers and laughed over beers and old jokes and revived friendships. He looked at his cat and his dog, preening in the sun, enjoying the long grass of this town as much as David did. This town he had folded himself into, had let inside. And he smiled.</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, but I still am.</em>
</p><p>*</p><p>David had let people keep believing he was not a morning person. Hell, he’d let himself believe it for a long time. But the wide, cushioned windowsill in the dining room of his dream home had taught him the difference between a cold, grumbly workday start and the quiet, muted bliss of being alone and with tea before sunrise, when the world was steeped in David Rose-approved greys – but not so deep that they drowned the horizon. Beneath the stubborn black of the sky, fingers of gold shone.</p><p>He was on his way there now, quietly thanking God for the almost-silent kettle that David had persuaded Patrick was worth the price last winter. Its unobtrusive bubbling and tiny click hadn’t served much benefit, however, until their house was unexpectedly littered with guests. Especially when those guests would most likely be nursing fat hangovers in a couple of hours. After marvelling at Elmdale College’s creation, a runway in which every model was donning huge dresses wired with lights and weaving through the crowds on neon stilts, the group had spent the rest of the night getting steadily drunker and had all but passed out on the living room sofas (and floor, though Cody and Kate had insisted upon their comfort in a very chivalric, very Patrick-like way).</p><p>It was life’s little secrets like the morning windowsill that made the thoughts of his past ache just a little sharper. The years he’d been too busy dressing and repressing, the early hours when he’d been too drugged out to even notice the sun, never mind trying to count the rays as they rose or sketching the trees beyond the back garden for the hundredth time.</p><p><em>I wish someone had told me</em>, he used to think, a small but probing thought stuck in the gentle gaps between blows on steaming mugs. Between the soft rub of bed socks and the solid weight of a blanket around his shoulders. Between the sparks of light he would feel when he remembered the way he had mapped his husband’s skin beneath his fingers the night before in their newly married haze. <em>I wish someone had told me it could be like this.</em></p><p>He stopped in the doorway, but did not jump, at the sight of the silhouette already seated in his usual spot. The sun was just bright enough for David to make out a sheen of red hair and brown eyes.</p><p>‘Couldn’t sleep?’</p><p>Rachel did jump. She stared at David wide-eyed, like she’d been caught doing something wrong.</p><p>‘Oh, sh– sorry! Sorry, I just – yeah. Guess I couldn’t.’</p><p>‘No, no, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.’</p><p>David crossed the room and perched himself on the other side of the windowsill. Rachel didn’t take up much room. He could seat himself quite comfortably on the other side.</p><p>‘You have a really beautiful view here,’ she said.</p><p>David matched her gaze on the horizon. ‘We really do.’</p><p>‘It’s a beautiful house.’</p><p>David nodded, suddenly more aware of who he was talking to than he had been while interacting with Rachel at any point over the past two days. He could deal with small talk like this, stiff and comfortingly meaningless, but he was worried anything deeper than this would pick at an old, matching scab that he had adopted over a family barbecue one day.</p><p>‘You know, Patrick told me a lot about your life,’ Rachel said.</p><p>Oh. That’s not what he was expecting.</p><p>David offered what he hoped was a humorous look. ‘Did he, now? We’ll be having words about that later.’</p><p>Rachel puffed a laugh through her nose. ‘Nothing too bad. Maybe not entirely legal, though.’ She turned back to the trees and the back garden. There was a red cup in the middle of the lawn from the night before. ‘You deserve this.’</p><p>David didn’t know how to respond, so he took a sip of tea.</p><p>‘Deserve what?’ he said, after a while.</p><p>Rachel shrugged, gesturing to the garden, the dining room, the windowsill. ‘All of it. The home. The community. Patrick.’</p><p>Fuck. David tilted his head back. If it wasn’t for the scalding drink in his hands, he would’ve had to flail that one out for a few seconds or hours.</p><p>‘I just hope this week has been the kind of thing <em>he</em> deserves, after everything you guys have been through,’ David said.</p><p>‘Oh, it definitely has been. I can’t remember the last time any of us were like this. It’s like we’re back to our old selves, except…not.’</p><p>‘Except not? What’s different?’</p><p>Rachel creased her brow and quirked her mouth as though to say, <em>come on</em>. ‘It’s like the good old days again, except Patrick is actually happy now. You know, I think it took coming here for me – for all of us – to realise just how much he needed all of this too, just as much as you.’</p><p>They let that one sit on the air for a while. Let it sink into the gritty, sedated atmosphere of the cottage in its pre-dawn darkness. David wondered how long Rachel had been waiting to say that. It was a pretty solidly rehearsed piece, an excellent spur that David would gladly use to fuel the week’s conclusion that lay only fifteen hours away.</p><p>‘I’m really glad you invited us here, David,’ Rachel finished. ‘It’s been really special.’</p><p>David smiled at her. ‘I think today’s gonna be pretty special too.’ </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos and comments do a happy writer make.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. now the evening's slowing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The 'Finale' of Lumiere is upon them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So sorry to disappoint anyone, but I had to shorten this fic when I realised that I didn't have enough material to justify a whole 8th chapter. With that said, I'm so glad everyone has enjoyed it! Your feedback has been lovely and it was a joy to write.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>About six hours later, however, the prospect of the night ahead and ‘special’ were two concepts being driven further apart in David’s head by the strict filter of anxiety that had been his constant companion for the past thirty years. Murphy’s Law was one thing. There were very few people who knew about David’s Law: anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and it will be all your fault.</p><p>Rachel had gone back to sleep for a few hours while David sat and fretted in Patrick’s office, moving away from the windowsill as soon as he felt the anxiety creep in so as not to taint his favorite space. The troupe woke up less than eager, their hair matted and dialect slipping into French more frequently than usual. David reckoned they still had enough alcohol coursing through their systems to warrant far too many collective property bans and DUIs, so he plated up plenty of coffee and bacon and eggs cooked in the cheapest, hangover-iest oil he could find.</p><p>It kept him on his feet, trying to keep everyone comfortable and simultaneously hiding his texts and phone calls. It was a convenient distraction. While everything was technically out of his hands now, David couldn’t help breathing down everyone’s necks about how things were coming along.</p><p>By the mid-afternoon, David was fighting against every instinct to surrender to irrational thoughts like wondering whether he’d actually heard Patrick correctly when he was talking about that ruined Lumiere night all those years ago. What if he <em>had </em>misheard him? What if none of them remembered and he’d just planned some random night? Worst of all, what if they <em>did </em>remember and thought it was a cheap shot –</p><p>‘David?’</p><p>‘Hm?’</p><p>‘I asked if you could grab the cheese board.’</p><p>‘Oh.’ David turned around quickly and busied himself with the lunch.</p><p>‘Are you okay?’ Patrick said, frowning.</p><p>‘I’m fine. Just one of those days.’</p><p>Patrick smiled sympathetically, giving David’s hand a brief squeeze before he left the room. David felt bad for using a well-respected excuse under false pretences, but it was better than attaching his name to whatever underwhelming disappointment he would lead them into later. This way, he could feign ignorance.</p><p>Surrounded by the friends that had very quickly become his, however, it was easy to forget his anxieties. Mabel had been tugging at Patrick’s sleeve for a walk so they had ended up taking them on a tour round the town and were now back inside, waiting for the sun to set as they grazed on guacamole and hummus.</p><p>‘Wait, wait,’ Luka was saying between breaths of laughter. ‘Did I ever tell you guys how Patrick got kicked out of AP Math when we were seventeen?’</p><p>David’s mouth dropped open. ‘What? No. There is no <em>way </em>that happened.’</p><p>Luka nodded. ‘So, this story has like, three parts to it –’</p><p>He was interrupted by David’s phone ringing. He glanced down and cringed at the sight of Jocelyn’s name. <em>She’s gonna tell you the entire thing blew up. You must have forgotten something.</em></p><p>‘I’m gonna have to take this, sorry,’ David said, ducking out of the room and missing what was sure to be an incredible story.</p><p>‘Is everything okay?’ David said automatically.</p><p>‘David!’ Jocelyn’s voice sounded blessedly animated over the line. ‘I was just calling to let you know that everything’s been completely set up now, but we didn’t have any room for the sensory illusion thing you requested. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those at a –’</p><p>‘Okay, that’s cool, fine, bye,’ David whispered into the phone as Patrick stuck his head round the door into the hallway.</p><p>‘Everything good?’ Patrick said. ‘We don’t usually get calls from vendors at this time.’</p><p>David flung a hand out, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘Oh, that wasn’t um, that was – Jocelyn. Think she butt-dialled me.’</p><p>Patrick raised an eyebrow. ‘…Right.’</p><p>David put his hands on his hips and stared at the now-empty hallway. It was okay. He could keep this up for another two hours.</p><p>*</p><p>‘What does it mean, “finale”?’</p><p>David shrugged at the question that made his and Patrick’s car feel ever so slightly more airtight. ‘Probably nothing deep. Might be a mix of the past two nights.’</p><p>Like some taunting physical manifestation of what had been happening inside David for the past month, the lights of Elmdale were growing larger and brighter with every mile. By the time both cars had parked and they were locking doors and grabbing bags from seats David was practically on autopilot, hanging back from the rest of the group to avoid any potential malreaction.</p><p>‘Oh…my God.’</p><p>‘What the...?’</p><p>Patrick let out a low whistle. The kind David knew meant he was seriously impressed by something.</p><p>‘I was <em>not </em>expecting this.’</p><p>David was no stranger to the feeling of walking into a room and seeing the fruits of his creativity laid bare in front of him. The pride, the vulnerability, the excitement. It had happened when he would display his gallery, it happened when he opened the store, and here it was again. Ever since Patrick had told David why he was so hesitant about his friends arriving, the idea of this hadn’t quit. It had stayed inside him, whirling and flickering and dancing and suddenly it was here, floodlit, exploded in front of him, streaming through his ribs and from the tips of his fingers.</p><p>Stood proud and blinking in front of the group was the largest, brightest pop-up carnival David had ever seen. Carts of corndogs and cotton candy crossed their path as they passed by funhouses, a merry-go-round, a bandstand and plenty of other things that David hadn’t even requested, yet someone in Schitt’s Creek who loved him enough had clearly gone to the trouble of finding. It was all sheltered by a huge Ferris wheel and helter-skelter that towered over the town. David would have to put together a particularly expensive thank-you hamper for Ronnie for that one.</p><p>Whether or not Patrick suspected it was David’s doing couldn’t have mattered less to him when his husband turned around, smiling through glassy eyes, and held out his hand. David laced his fingers through Patrick’s and they took off into the carnival at their own pace, just as their friends were doing. There were times when David let himself lose Patrick in the crowd, knowing he was busy reliving things he never got to enjoy. He shared a huge stick of cotton candy with Rachel and watched them put their heads through ridiculous cardboard portraits and take photos.</p><p>Suddenly, Rachel said, ‘Oh, okay. Wow.’</p><p>David looked in the same direction to see Jasmeen and Kate together by the coin slot of a waltzer ride, a fairground prize squashed between them as they kissed like they were on their first date. Patrick had mentioned they’d had a thing years ago. Why David felt a small slice of self-pride, he wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps it was something to do with what would have happened if they’d never come here.</p><p>He wondered what would have happened if no one had come here. How Cody would have never appreciated how much happier his old best friend was now. How Robert and Luka would have been the only ones keeping in polite touch with Patrick. How David himself recognised that the first sight of Rachel had made him feel sick and now here he was, sharing candy with her and laughing about the friends David never knew he could have had as well.</p><p>David still wasn’t able to tell if Patrick knew it was him, but it still meant nothing to David when they returned home and were pulling each other up the stairs like college students. Hand still glistening from fried food and knees nudging thighs apart made quick work against the closed bedroom door; through tipsy laughter and some breathed curses and <em>I love yous,</em> they were finished before they’d even got to the bed. Imperfect, perhaps, but that was all a perfect night was. A series of imperfections that strung together into something altogether ridiculous and fucking beautiful and <em>how the hell did I pull this off? And while we’re on the topic, what the hell did I do to get you?</em></p><p>*</p><p>While he’d shied away behind the curtains when everyone arrived, David was definitely making his presence known on the farewell trail as he handed over as many hampers as the store could financially justify and making sure everyone had had their absolute fill of lunch.</p><p>‘I’m pretty sure they’re gonna burst, David,’ Patrick said, a solid arm around David’s waist.</p><p>‘You can never have enough buffet-style food,’ David countered. His chest ached a little watching everyone get into the car.</p><p>‘Could be <em>months </em>before you hear from us, David,’ Lauren said, winking.</p><p>David couldn’t feign frustration for long. He’d spent the weekend learning that there were six other Patricks in the world, and he’d endure all the trolling in the universe to exist in that reality.</p><p>The three o’ clock sun was gentle on their backs as they watched the car until it grew soft around the edges from distance and dust. Patrick stood behind David with his chin over David’s shoulder.</p><p>‘So you can relax now, huh?’ Patrick said, prodding David in the side.</p><p>David exhaled dramatically, then turned around with a more serious expression.</p><p>‘Okay, so there may have been a <em>slight </em>ulterior motive to being so gung-ho about the planning of this whole thing,’ David said, dancing his fingertips along Patrick’s shoulders like he did when he was trying to sweeten him up for something.</p><p>‘Oh, did you finally get all the intel you needed on exactly how seventeen-year-old Patrick got kicked out of AP Math?’ Patrick teased.</p><p>‘I still refuse to believe that happened, but I am absolutely going to make use of the group chat to find out. Anyway, that wasn’t it.’</p><p>‘Yeah? So what was it?’ Patrick pulled David in gently, eyes flicking down to David’s lips. David knew he only had a matter of seconds to get his words out.</p><p>‘After what you told me about your friends, I <em>may</em> have wanted you to experience that night during college again, only better, and happier and more…I don’t know, sure of yourself?’</p><p>Patrick pulled away in shock before tugging David back in again. ‘Wait. <em>You</em> organised the carnival? That’s what all the weirdness was about?’</p><p>David pressed his lips together and nodded. ‘Well, me and Ray. And Jocelyn. And Ronnie did most of the donkey work with the machinery and hiring stuff, but she insisted she was just doing it for me –’</p><p>Yep, David was right. This may have been a world where he could go into hours of detail about the process, about how he wanted nothing more than the night to go off without a hitch, about how much he loved his husband and his friends, but this was also a world where Patrick Brewer wanted to kiss him. And he was powerless against that. He always had been, but when it was in the middle of their garden, bathed in late summer sun and full to the brim of hope and promises and white wine, it was as if he was anchored to the soft grass. As though there was no alternate universe in which David Rose was <em>not</em> right here.</p><p>It hadn’t taken the events of the week for David to realise he was rich. He had known that already. But perhaps somewhere, somewhere between the lights and the mended friendships and the small things you can create with your hands out of love, it occurred to him that he never really had been until he moved to Schitt’s Creek.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos and comments do a happy writer make.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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